


It's You Who Gives Me Life

by waroftheposes



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-11-02 08:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waroftheposes/pseuds/waroftheposes
Summary: “Omar,” Ander whispers, his voice strained, faint. “Don’t leave me.”“I won’t,” Omar reassures him. “I’m right here.”--a season 2 reaction fic





	It's You Who Gives Me Life

**Author's Note:**

> _ Eres tú quien me da vida_

Two days after Polo returns to school, Omar spends his Saturday morning watching Ander sleep and trying not to feel enraged. Ander hasn’t really been sleeping. He’s been plagued by insomnia and restless dreams. He’d suffered so much with the secret that Polo had unloaded on him, unable to tell anyone, unable to live with himself. He’s told Omar countless times how he almost revealed Polo’s guilt to Guzman, to Omar, to the police, but in the end chickened out. Every time Ander has brought it up, he ends up blaming every bad thing on himself, as if the fact that he kept the secret is worse than murder. Omar has tried to alleviate his guilt every single time, with mixed results.

It had gotten a bit better for a few days. Omar’s attempts to help and Polo’s arrest had helped subside the guilt a bit, but now that Polo is free again, Ander is struggling.

But at least Ander’s sleeping now, though his eyebrows are drawn together. Omar resists the urge to reach out with his hand and clear the furrow between Ander’s brows. He doesn’t want to do anything to wake Ander.

But Omar also needs to get out of bed. He wants to help Ander’s mom make breakfast before Ander wakes up. He’s not sure if breakfast will help Ander, but he wants to try _something_, _anything_ to improve Ander’s mood.

Shifting the blanket, Omar slowly and carefully swings his legs off the bed, intending to tiptoe out of the room. His feet have just touched the ground when he feels fingers grabbing his wrists.

“Please don’t go,” Ander mumbles. Omar turns back just in time to see Ander shifting his face, gazing up at Omar with pleading eyes. “Please.”

“Fuck, Ander,” Omar says, moving back to the bed. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

He slowly pries Ander’s fingers from his wrist so that he can lie down next to him.

“Sorry.” He whispers the words against Ander’s lips, leaning in to brush his own softly against Ander’s chin, his forehead, his beauty mark. “Go back to sleep, ok?”

Omar feels Ander’s breath on his cheek as he rests his own cheek against Ander’s.

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

Of course he wasn’t, why had Omar thought that today would be different from any other day? Frustration grips Omar, making his hands shake and his heart hurt. He resists the urge to curse, instead, he wraps his arms around Ander’s shoulders, moving him so that his head is resting against Omar’s chest. He kisses Ander’s hair, feeling Ander burrow in closer and pressing in his head in search of comfort.

And Omar... loves him so much. He can’t help himself. His heart hurts for Ander.

“Baby,” he whispers against Ander’s curls and feels Ander shudder against him.

“Omar,” Ander whispers, his voice strained, faint. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” Omar reassures him. “I’m right here.”

“Ok.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Omar’s not sure if he can hold Ander any tighter but he tries.

“Say it again,” Ander mumbles against his shirt.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Omar repeats.

Ander shakes his head. “No,” he says. “The other thing.”

“Baby?” Omar asks. He’s surprised that Ander wants to hear it now, when just a little while ago he hated the sound of it.

He feels Ander’s nod against his chest and brings his mouth to Ander’s ear. “I love you.” He kisses the shell of Ander’s ear. “I love you.” Again. softly.

He can feel wetness against his skin, where Ander’s face is touching his t-shirt and a moment later, Ander is shaking with quiet sobs. Omar tangles his fingers in Ander’s curls, trying to soothe him and whispers. “Sleep, Ander. You need it.”

He’s not sure when the shaking ends and Ander finally falls asleep, but he doesn’t dare move. He lays there quiet and pensive, trying to hold back his own tears. It’s as if he can feel Ander’s pain, his guilt, his loneliness, and there’s nothing he can do to help. Before he knew what plagued Ander, he’d felt lost and unhappy. He’d been sick to his stomach thinking that Ander was angry with him, that Ander didn’t love the real him. His heart had hurt to think that Ander didn’t love him enough to tell him what was wrong.

This has to be better, but barely. Watching someone you love suffer is so much worse than suffering yourself. Omar never knew how difficult it would be.

He wishes he could have the old Ander back but he knows that’s not possible. What Ander went through, the secret he kept, the people he hurt. It’ll take him months to get over it.

If he ever does.

Omar is still holding Ander, furious at the world, tired, when Ander’s mom opens the bedroom door and pokes her head inside. Omar raises his finger to his nose.

“He’s sleeping?” She whispers, sounding hopeful.

Omar nods.

“I’ll wait on making breakfast,” she says, and leaves.

It’s several hours before Ander stirs, and half an hour after that before he and Omar leave his room. Ander’s mom smiles at them a bit too brightly when they enter the kitchen.

Ander doesn’t even look at her. He just pulls out a chair and sits down. Omar catches her worried look and shrugs. “I can help with setting the table.”

Ander looks up at Omar’s voice. “I can help set the table too.”

Ander’s mom shoos Omar away. “No, I’m going to do it. I’m leaving you two to fend for yourselves for the rest of the day,” she pauses, looking conflicted. “I have meetings all day today.”

“But it’s Saturday!” Omar takes a seat next to Ander. “It’s your day off.”

“Not when you’ve got to deal with angry parents it’s not.” She puts two mugs of coffee and two croissants in front of Omar and Ander. “But I’m sure you guys will be ok here today, just the two of you.” She looks at Ander hopefully, possibly looking for a response, any kind of response, but Ander just reaches his hand out for a croissant.

After she has left, Omar nudges Ander’s foot with his own to try to get some kind of conversation out of him. It’s weird, Omar knows everything now, but it still feels like there’s a wall between Ander and him. A wall made of Ander’s guilt perhaps.

Omar hates it, he wants Ander to talk to him. Even if it’s about something useless. “You wanna do something today? Go out?”

“I just want to stay here with you.”

“You can go to the park with me instead of being cooped up in the house all day.” Omar thinks being outside will help improve Ander’s mood. “We can make a picnic. Kiss in public?” It’s a desperate plunge, but Omar knows how much Ander wants to be with him in public, or did, before he became this shell of a person.

Ander turns to him then, looking at Omar from under his lashes. There’s almost a smile on his lips. Almost.

“What do you say?”

Ander considers it, there’s hope in his eyes as if he wants this more than anything else, but after a moment, the hope disappears. Ander’s eyes go blank again and he shakes his head. “I’d rather stay in.”

“Ander, please.” Omar turns his chair so that he’s facing Ander, he grabs Ander’s hand with his own, squeezes it. “I hate seeing you like this. Let’s do something together. Let’s go out.”

Ander looks down at their joined hands, brows knit together, his hair falling onto his forehead. “I want to do something with you,” he says finally. “But--” his voice breaks.

Omar uses his free hand to grab Ander’s chin and slowly raise it. “But what?”

Ander looks up then, and what Omar notices first are the small drops of tears sticking to his eyelashes. Omar wants to reach out and wipe them away, wants to hurt everything and everyone who made Ander into this person. Omar thought that they had talked, that they had gotten through all of this, that Ander understood that he had made a mistake, and that it’s ok to make mistakes. He thought they’d moved on. Omar’s definitely moved on… but Ander?

“I don’t deserve you,” Ander says finally. “I don’t deserve to have you take care of me. I don’t deserve to have you forgive me. Not after the way I treated you, not after the way I yelled at you and made you feel. You’re…” He stops, raising his head high and taking a breath that’s close to a sob. “You’re everything to me, and I made you feel like you didn’t matter. I made you feel like Samuel didn’t matter. I should have fucking told the police. I should have told someone. I don’t deserve you…”

Omar closes his eyes as he releases Ander’s hand and brings his own up to cover Ander’s mouth. He opens his eyes after taking one breath, two.

“Maybe you don’t deserve me,” he says and watches Ander’s face crumble. “No listen to me,” he says, cupping Ander’s face, releasing his mouth. “Maybe you don’t. But I get to make the decision about who deserves me and who doesn’t. Ander I love you, I don’t know how you made it happen because I was dead set against falling in love with you, but here we are. I love you, and I say I don’t give a fuck that you hurt me, you’ve apologized ok? You deserve me, because I say you do. Ok?”

Tear drops fall on Omar’s wrist as Ander nods.

“I forgive you,” Omar says, raising Ander’s head to look him in the eyes. “Stop blaming yourself for all of this. Please.”

Ander nods again.

“You wanna stay in and watch movies today then?” Omar asks, smiling, trying to lighten to mood. “We can watch _The Rocky Horror Picture Show._”

Ander actually laughs in response to this, nodding. “Only if we dress up again.” He looks up at Omar, but this time, he’s biting a smile, looking shy of all things.

“Yeah? You want to?”

Ander nods.

Omar leans in to kiss him gently. “Ok then, let’s get dressed.”

\--

Ander’s mood improves a bit after that. He sleeps better too, though he refuses to sleep without Omar there. Omar thinks about moving out still, but he doesn’t want to leave Ander, not when Ander needs him. He also thinks that his only reason for wanting to leave before was that he thought Ander didn’t want him there. Now that he knows he’s wanted, he has no reason to move out.

And Ander’s mom is so kind and caring, Omar doesn’t even want to move out.

But he thinks maybe he should move out of Ander’s room at least.

They’re at the restaurant where Samuel used to work, a few weeks after they have their talk, when Omar brings it up.

Ander’s burger stops midway to his mouth. “You don’t want to sleep with me anymore?”

Omar reaches out and takes Ander’s burger from him, putting it down on his plate. “That’s not it, Ander,” he says, taking Ander’s hand. “Of course I want to sleep with you. I love sleeping with you.”

Ander doesn’t look convinced. “Then why do you want to move into one of the extra rooms?”

Because Omar’s afraid that Ander will get sick of him. He understands that Ander’s problem wasn’t with him before, but he can’t get rid of this nagging feeling in his gut that says soon, soon Ander will get tired of him and move on.

“Because we’re young Ander, we shouldn’t be living in the same room. I think so at least.”

Ander regards him for a second. “You’re lying. Why are you lying to me?”

Before Omar has a chance to answer, he hears his name being called and Samuel is walking towards them, smiling.

Omar smiles back, surprised to see Samuel, but not upset at his unexpected company. It’s a relief that Samuel is still here, still his friend, even after he found out about Ander’s involvement in the murder. Samuel though, seemed to understand the pressure Ander was under, he seemed to grasp it and forgive Ander for it.

He joins Ander and Omar for food and in the process of catching up and ordering food the subject of Omar moving rooms is dropped.

It’s a pleasant atmosphere. Samuel is in a good mood, Ander is doing much better, and Omar loves the two of them greatly. He’s having a fantastic time.

That is, until Guzman walks in and all hell breaks loose.

Guzman--Omar finds this out later, from Samuel--and Samuel had apparently had plans to have food together. But when Samuel motions for Guzman to join them, Guzman declines, eyes fixed on Ander.

“Come on, man,” Samuel says. “We said we would hang out. Just join us.”

“We can hang out,” Guzman says to Samuel, though his gaze is still on Ander. “When you’re done talking to backstabbers and liars.”

Omar watches Ander’s face as he hears the words and the visible hurt that passes over it. They've come so far. Omar can't let Guzman do this to Ander now, not when Ander has almost forgiven himself.

He waits until Guzman’s almost out of the restaurant, excuses himself, and follows him out.

He catches up with Guzman on the outside patio.

“Look, man you and I need to talk.”

Guzman turns to him with the most insincere smile on his face. “Do we?”

“I’m resisting the urge to punch you right now,” Omar says. “And really it’s only because I know me punching you would actually make you happy.”

Guzmann’s eye roll in response is almost enough to make Omar actually punch him.

“Guzman,” he says, taking a step closer. “I don’t care that Samu likes you and I don’t care if my sister is in love with you. You have to stop treating Ander like shit, you have to stop blaming him for things he didn’t have much control over.”

Guzman takes a step closer too. “Oh? So you’re suggesting I should pretend nothing happened after he hid the truth from me for months?”

Omar takes a deep breath, filling his cheeks with air and letting it out slowly before he speaks again. “I know that nuance is something you just can’t grasp. But Ander isn’t the one at fault here.”

“Yeah?” Guzman is suddenly too close, a centimeter or two away, looking down at Omar. “Then who is at fault? Who was it that lied to me for months, lied to _you_ for months?”

“You don’t know half of it,” Omar is almost whispering. “Do you know the first thing Ander tried to do when he found out? He told Polo he had a day to tell you or Ander himself would do it.”

“Ok and why didn’t he?”

“Because Polo _tried to kill himself!_” Omar’s forehead is almost touching Guzman’s at this point. He wants to yell. Actually, he probably _is_ yelling and just hasn’t realized it. “He almost killed himself and it spooked Ander--”

“Good, he should have fucking died,” Guzman all but snarls.

“Yeah well you weren’t the one that saw him barely breathing next to a pool,” Omar counters. “And ok fine you would have let him die, but Ander was _confused_. He didn’t want to be the reason that Polo killed himself, so he held off, and then after a few weeks, a month had passed, you know what Polo did?”

“Do I give a shit?” Guzman asks.

Omar ignores this interjection. “He told Ander that if you knew how long he’d held on to the truth, you would never forgive him. And then you’d be alone, friendless, and Ander didn’t want you to be friendless.”

Guzman is looking at Omar like he’d like to shut him up physically.

“He cared so much about your well being, but you can’t even spare a thought about how much pressure he was under. Polo _told him_ that he killed Marina, and then manipulated him into staying quiet. He didn’t know what to do! Can you try to understand that?”

Guzman takes a step back, his eyes stormy, his mouth set in a straight line. Omar knows that it’s too much to ask him to forgive Ander, understands that if someone had hidden such important truths from him about his own sister, he’d be angry at them for a long time. Still, his objective is to help Ander.

“Can you?” Omar asks.

Guzman closes his eyes. “I can’t just accept… he lied _to my face_. I asked him, outright if it was Polo who’d done it, and he said no...” His resolve is cracking, Omar can see it.

“I’m not saying what he did was ok,” and Omar honestly doesn’t know what he would do if he was ever put in the situation that Ander was placed in. “I’m just saying. Try to see it from his point of view.”

Guzman is quiet for a long time, not looking at Omar in favor of looking down at his shoes. When he finally looks up, his eyes won’t settle on Omar and his fists are clenched. “He lied to me.”

“I know,” Omar answers. “Forgive him for it.”

Guzman is shaking his head as he steps even further away from Omar. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Look Guzman… I know that losing your sibling is hard, listen _I know_. My sister left us when she turned eighteen and we have no clue what’s happened to her. But you know what? She might still be out there somewhere and your sister…” Omar pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Well she’s gone forever. And I don’t really know in the end what this is like for you. But would it kill you to _try?”_

Guzman looks away, biting his lip.

“What Polo did, when he told Ander about the muder… he hurt you both. He made it so that Ander couldn’t talk to you. But Ander cares about you still and I know you wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t care about him,” Omar says. “So he fucked up, and he fucked up _bad _but… we all fuck up. If you never forgive the people you love, you’re going to end up being alone.”

Guzman is quiet.

“And right now you guys have something in common,” Omar continues. “Both of you fucking hate Polo for what he did to the people you love.”

This catches Guzman’s attention and he looks up sharply. He considers it, breathing evenly, and then finally, _finally_, Guzman nods. “You and I though… we’ve never really talked,” he says after the long silence.

Omar shrugs, taking the change of topic as a sign that Guzman finally agrees with him. “There never was anything to talk about.”

“How’s Nadia?”

Omar closes his eyes, the thought of his sister makes him want to shudder. “She’s regressed, man,” he says finally. “And she won’t listen to me at all.”

Guzman takes a seat finally, and motions for Omar to join him. “I think it’s my fault.”

Omar does join him on the bench. “Did you force her to do it? Did you film her without her consent?”

Guzman shakes his head.

“Then it’s not your fault,” Omar says. “My sister wasn’t ready to face the consequences of her own actions. When things blew up in her face, she thought going back to the way of our parents was the answer… it’s not.”

Guzman nods. Then, “I’m in love with her.”

Omar turns his head, glancing at Guzman before looking down at his own hands. “ I guess all we can do is be patient and hope she comes around.”

They talk until Omar receives a text from Ander, asking him where he is. He responds quickly and not a minute later Ander has found them.

He pauses when he sees Guzman, glancing at Omar questioningly. Omar shrugs and stands. “I think it’s time I left.” He directs this at Guzman, kisses Ander’s cheek softly, and leaves them alone.

He doesn’t see Ander for over an hour. He and Samuel are sitting in the restaurant still, their food long since gone. When Ander does find him, his eyes are red and puffy and there are stray tears still on his cheeks, but he doesn’t look sad.

Omar hugs him, holding him tightly, and flips Samuel off when Samuel jeers at his mushiness. “What happened?” he asks when Ander pulls back.

“We talked.”

“And?”

Ander shrugs, but there is a light in his eyes that wasn’t there when he saw Guzman earlier. “I guess things are better now.”

Omar kisses his cheek to hide his smile. “I’m glad.”

Later, as they’re laying down on Ander’s bed together, Ander says. “Talking with Guzman helped. Being truthful with him, it was freeing. I really needed it. Thank you.”

Omar closes his eyes. He’s happy that it’s dark, that Ander can’t see how he’s struggling with what he’s about to say.

“I’m afraid you’re going to get tired of me,” he says, each word a boulder he has to push out. “That’s why I want my own room. It’ll be easier to leave when I’m already in another room.”

“What?” Omar hears rustling and opens his eyes to see that Ander has raised himself up, leaning on his elbow. “Are you stupid?”

Ander looks genuinely perplexed. He shakes his head in disbelief when Omar doesn’t respond. “How can I get tired of you, Omar? Don’t you know how much I love you?”

Omar doesn’t respond.

“So much, idiot,” Ander continues. “I even kissed someone else, and the next day all I could think of was how much I love you, how I messed up, how I felt like shit for kissing someone who wasn’t you. Omar, you know it was killing me inside to shut you out, to not be able to talk to you. It was killing me to see how much I was hurting you. I…” He stops, taking a deep breath. He’d been talking faster and faster, but it seems as if he needed to pause, to gather his thoughts. “I’m not gonna say I don’t deserve you again, because I believe you when you say that I deserve you. But I’m going to say that _I love you_. I love you so much. I love you and I won’t ever love anyone else, I know this. I know, I _know_ that I won’t get tired of you.”

Omar wants to say something, anything, but he can’t find his voice.

“And I’m so fucking sorry that I made you believe I didn’t want you, or that you were annoying me. I’m sorry, and I’m going to prove to you how much you mean to me.”

“Ok.” Omar finally finds his voice.

“Please give me time, let me show you.” Ander moves closer, drops his head down, resting his forehead against Omar’s. “Please.”

“Ander…”

Ander presses his lips softly against Omar’s. “Please,” he repeats.

It feels so good, so reassuring, to have him like this. To have Ander say how much he cares for Omar again, to have him show it with his own desperation. Omar hadn’t seen Ander’s caring side for so long, he’d allowed himself to believe that it didn’t exist. But he can feel it now, again, how much Ander loves him, how desperate he is to show his love.

“Ok, I won’t move out,” he says finally, and feels Ander smile against his lips.

“Thank you.” A kiss. “Thank you.” Another kiss, this time lingering. “I love you.” Another, and with Ander’s mouth slightly open. Omar opens his own mouth, letting the kiss deepen, allowing it to wash away his insecurities, the heartache he’s been carrying around for the better part of a year. The kisses take over, until Omar isn’t aware of anything else but Ander’s lips against his, the sound of Ander’s breath, and the beating of Ander’s heart against his own chest.

Later, they sleep.

\--

Months after Carla’s confession and Polo’s first arrest, the latter is arrested again, presumably for good. Omar has become so wrapped up in his own life, studying for school, going to work, hanging out with Ander and Samuel and, surprisingly, Guzman, that he doesn’t notice at first how much Ander’s attitude has improved. He’s barely touching alcohol, he’s smiling more, he’s wanting to go out and do things. Slowly, with Omar almost missing it, Ander has gone back to normal.

When he does notice, it's the little things, like Ander waking him up to get him to agree to shower together before school, or Ander bringing his homework to the bar and working on it together whenever Omar gets breaks. When Omar sees these acts for what they are--Ander finally moving on--he feels free, like the fist that’s been squeezing his heart for months has finally relaxed its hold.

Life becomes enjoyable after that.

One day, Ander asks Omar if there are any Palestinian restaurants in their town. “So I can experience some of your food,” he says with a smile that’s so sweet, it makes Omar’s heart melt.

There aren’t any Palestinian restaurants unfortunately, but there are Arab restaurants. “It’s not the same,” Omar tells Ander. “But it’s close.”

They ask Samuel if he wants to go with them, but he’s apparently too busy working. Guzman is not, and he demands to be taken out to dinner. “Come on, you love me. Let’s make up for the last time we went to dinner. You know… the disaster.”

They can’t argue with that and apparently Guzman does not mind being a third wheel, so they go out to dinner together that night.

And it’s good. It’s really good. Ander and Guzman are almost back to normal, and Omar is happy to see Ander so happy. But of course, it’s now, when Ander has begun to improve, that Omar’s old life decides to pay them a visit.

Omar’s first clue that something is wrong is when Guzman’s face freezes, gaze fixed on a spot behind Ander and Omar. His smile drops a moment later as his eyes widen.

“Fuck,” Guzman whispers.

Ander and Omar turn simultaneously, and Omar can tell that they both spot Omar’s parents and Nadia at the same time, because he hears his own swear word echoed by Ander.

Omar’s first thought is to turn around, pretend like they haven’t seen anything and leave as soon as they get the chance. But he realizes it’s too late when he catches his father’s eye and sees his mother raise her hand to grab Nadia’s shoulder.

“Ok,” Guzman says, “they’re coming over.”

“Way to state the obvious,” Ander says as he turns around. “We have eyes.”

Omar doesn’t turn around, he can't. He watches his parents approaching, and resists the urge to close his eyes.

His fingers squeeze themselves into a fist without his control. Omar feels small. He feels like screaming, like crying. Everything had been going so well. Things had gotten better in Omar’s life. Why did this have to happen _now_?

He’s on the verge of a panic attack, he thinks, when he feels fingers gently wrap around his wrist. He looks over to see Ander smiling at him. “I’m here,” Ander mouths. “We’re in this together.”

Omar feels infinitely better, more brave, with Ander here to support him.

He stands up as his parents reach their table. “Hi,” he says, looking at his father.

His father glances away from him, first toward Guzman, then Ander. Omar watches as his gaze catches on Ander and his eyes narrow. He looks over at Omar’s mother, who’s also looking at Ander with confusion.

“Can we join you?” Omar’s father asks, dragging his gaze away from Ander and settling on Omar.

_No. _Omar wants to say, but he knows he can’t. However, he can’t bring himself to say yes. He looks at his father, opening his mouth to say yes, to say no, to say anything.

“Please sit down,” Ander says, standing up and flagging down a waiter, asking him to bring a few more chairs. Ander watches as Omar’s parents and Nadia move around the table and take the seats that the waiter brought, then leans in to rest his chin on Omar’s shoulder. “Do you want to do this?” He asks so low, Omar barely hears it.

Omar moves his head a fraction of an inch toward Ander. “I don’t know.”

Ander moves away, just a bit. “We can go,” he whispers.

Omar shakes his head.

When they turn around and take their seats, everyone is watching them.

Guzman clears his throat. Omar glances over at him and sees that his gaze is decidedly fixed on Nadia.

This dinner will be awkward in many, many ways.

They sit in silence, for what feels like hours, but really cannot be more than ten minutes. The first time the silence is broken is when the waiter comes to take their order. After they do so, it’s Guzman of all people,who asks Omar’s dad how he’s doing.

“Better,” Omar’s dad responds. He turns to Omar then, as if Guzman’s question was enough to break some kind of tension. “How have you been?”

“Good,” Omar responds. “I’ve been going to school.”

His father and mother both nod, next to them, Nadia is decidedly looking anywhere but at Guzman.

“And who is this?” Omar’s father points to Ander.

Everyone’s gaze falls on Ander, who gives Omar’s dad a crooked, almost smug smile. “Ander,” he says, “Omar’s friend. He’s staying with me.”

_After you kicked him out_, remains unsaid.

Omar shakes his head at this response. “No,” he says, he raises his hand, grabs Ander’s, which was resting on the table. “Ander is my boyfriend, and his mom was kind enough to take me in when I had nowhere to go.” Omar’s gaze shifts from his father to his mother. “She took me in, she fed me, and she sent me back to school…” he pauses, trying to temper the anger that’s rising inside him. He loves his parents, and it had felt like shit when they’d turned their backs on him. But right now, with them here trying to make conversation or whatever, all he feels is the urge to scream. “I’m sorry, is there a particular reason you wanted to have dinner with us? Because you could have just ignored us and had your dinner in peace but here you are.”

Omar’s dad runs a hand over his face, his mother’s eyes are fixed on where Omar’s hand is entwined with Ander’s.

No one says anything.

“You understand this is very awkward,” Omar says finally.

His father sighs. “I wanted to see how you were doing,” he finally says. “We all did.” He gestures toward Nadia and their mother.

“Well, I’m doing good. Goodbye.” He goes to stand up but his father motions for him to stop. In a moment his father’s demeanor has shifted, going from patient and even hesitant to hostile.

“I had another question too,” he says, once Omar has sat down again, voice rougher than before. “When are you coming home?”

Omar holds his father’s gaze, refusing to back down, to allow himself to be intimidated by his father again.”When are you going to apologize to me?”

Both Nadia and their mother gasp.

“I know,” Omar continues. “Never. Which is the answer to the question you’ve asked me as well.”

“Omar.” There’s a threat in his father’s voice, but before he can go on, he’s interrupted.

“Omar, come home,” his mother finally speaks up.

Omar turns his gaze from his father to his mother. “Come home?” He asks. “What is home? I don’t have a home, I was kicked out.”

“Omar.” Nadia’s voice is a warning. It’s the first thing she’s said all night. Omar ignores it.

“What’s going to happen to me when I come home? I’ll have to go back to managing that goddamn store,” Omar says, gaze moving from his father to his mother. “Will I be able to go to school? Can my boyfriend come over for visits?”

His family is avoiding his gaze now.

“No, I can’t. I’m sorry, but getting kicked out was the best thing that happened to me,” he continues. “It hurt like hell to lose a mother and a father, to see how little I meant to my parents. It hurt but I’m better off now. I can finally be myself, not someone who’s pretending for their parents’ sake…” he stops there, taking a breath, waiting to see if his parents have anything to add. “I love you guys very much, but I don’t think you love me the way that I need to be loved.”

“You’re ungrateful,” his father finally says, hands coming down to forcefully hit the table.

Omar flinches, knowing too well his father’s violent tendencies, scared that his father will make a scene even in a public area like this.

No Omar knows from experience that his father will make a scene, and suddenly he’s scared again. He wants to say something to alleviate his father’s anger, he wants to stand up for himself, he wants to _leave_.

“Excuse me?” Omar turns to see Ander with his eyes narrowed. “He’s ungrateful? Do you hear yourself talk?”

“Ander.” Guzman and Omar speak up at the same time, but Ander ignores them.

“_You _kicked him out. Your own son. Your teenage son. You told him to leave your house because he dared to stand up for himself. Before that you took away his phone, his freedom, because he messed up _once._ He felt like he was in jail when he was in your house, and yet he was willing to put aside his own dreams, his own happiness _for your sake_. And yet you can sit there and call him ungrateful? Because _you kicked him out_ and now he doesn’t want to come back?”

Omar feels lightheaded. No one’s ever stood up like this for him before. He watches Ander and feels his throat closing, feels the sting of tears in his eyes.

“The only reason your son is not with you anymore,” Ander continues,“is because you wanted it. This is your fault. Not his.”

“How dare you?” Omar’s father says, half rising, towering over the table.

Ander holds his gaze. “No, how dare you? If you want your son back, you should _apologize_. If you can’t see that, then the fault is with you.”

He stands, glancing briefly towards Guzman, then addressing Omar. “I’m leaving. Are you coming?”

Omar nods, wordlessly standing and taking the hand that Ander offers him.

“Guzman?” Ander asks.

Guzman stands too. “It was nice to see you again,” he says to Omar’s family, very awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about me,” Omar says, directing it to his mother, before leaving with Ander and Guzman.

They’re in their taxi before Guzman says, “Well that was a disaster.”

Omar shakes his head. “It wasn’t.”

And it wasn’t. Omar wholeheartedly believes this. He had met with his parents, yes, but he’d finally been able to tell them how badly they had treated him. And when they had tried to attack him, Ander had stood up for him.

Ander who’s been doing his best to show Omar how much he loves him. Ander who’d made a fake account to see Omar again, who’d handwritten him a note, who’d come to his father’s store every single goddamn day just to see Omar for ten fucking minutes.

Ander who loves him.

“Ander,” Omar whispers, later that night, when they’re alone in bed.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

Omar sighs. “For loving me.”

He feels the vibrations from Ander’s laughter more than he hears it. “It isn’t hard.”

“And for standing up for me tonight.”

“Of course,” Ander responds. “It was my pleasure. I’ve wanted to yell at your father for months now. Even though he’s your father,” Ander pauses, “he hurt you.”

Omar hums in response, closing his eyes and letting a comfortable silence fall between himself and Ander. Omar has almost fallen asleep when he hears Ander’s voice.

“Omar?”

He opens his eyes. “Yes.”

“Thank you,” Ander says.

It’s Omar’s turn to laugh. “For what?”

“For loving me.”

They fall asleep with their noses touching.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do yourselves a favor and listen to _ Morir Solo _ by Prince Royce while thinking about Ander and Omar. I promise it's worth it.
> 
> \--
> 
> This fic is both parts wish fulfillment and season 2 reaction. Hope you guys enjoyed it. Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://waroftheposes.tumblr.com/) about Elite, I promise I don't bite.


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